


Hard Soul to Save

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and the crew discover a lead that could help them find the mysterious John Harrison. Said lead being in the form of a nineteen year old female thief who once worked with him. Can she be trusted?</p><p>Eventual Chekov/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Looking for Absolution

Captain James “Jim” Tiberius Kirk, saviour of civilizations, Captain of the good ship _Enterprise,_ out-witter of Romulans and hero of Starfleet, sat slumped at a crusty little bar somewhere in Perth, Australia. Uhura, Spock and the others had long since returned to the ship, claiming that what they searched for was futile in their attempt to seek justice, but Jim’s fingers were still wrapped around his dusty glass bottle, his piercing blue eyes still fixed on the amber liquid within.

The bar was small, almost invisible, being tucked away behind a few alleys, away from the busier Perth streets and into a darker, dirtier world. On the outside, Perth was a glimmering mirage of justice. However, the underworld told a different story. Inequality was rife in the poverty-stricken areas of Perth, white men dominating the scene. Barely-coherent drug addicts, some hardly older than seventeen staggered along the alleys, moaning and babbling, their gaping mouths flecked with spittle. Bones had tried to help them as much as he could, taking to carrying around anti-fever drugs, but to little avail.

Jim frowned into his bottle. He didn’t like ignoring the problems the Australian people faced, not at all, but they were here for a reason, and that reason was paramount.

The outside of the bar wasn’t impressive, with most of the windows either broken or caked with filth, the large wooden door barely on its hinges. The inside wasn’t much better, not much but a pool table and a few crude pictures of naked women, twisted into grotesque shapes with their smiles painfully fake, placed in the bar to furnish it. Jim sat atop a splintery bar stool, and laced his fingers together.

There were a few guys- _blokes,_ Jim thought amusedly- who sat in the tables at the back, speaking quietly except for when any of the scantily-clad waitresses ventured near them, where they made loud, crude comments, each trying to impress their friends. Playing the _who’s the biggest misogynistic pig?_ game, the Starfleet Captain supposed. As the minutes ticked by, they got louder and louder, voices climbing over each other in a desperate, testosterone-fuelled attempt to better each other.

Jim kind of wished he was back in the main city. To be honest, he liked Perth. He liked the people (although he’d been woefully disappointed upon arriving in Australia, his visions of tanned, grinning larrikins perched on noble steeds soon wiped away by the glamour of Australia’s perfect city), who seemed to be a little more laid-back than the average American or Londoner, more friendly and each with an aura of… _dependability_ about them. From the twelve-year-old who’d given him directions to the nearest sandwich stop, to the tiny old lady who’d asked him if he was single (she had a granddaughter around his age), everyone just seemed… nice.

Well, apart from the criminals. _They_ were a bunch of bastards, if you asked him. Misogynistic, racist douchebags.

The Underhill Bar wasn’t as swanky as most of the bars in Perth, but it was quiet, and the person he was looking for was said to be a frequent visitor.

The person in question being a nineteen year old girl, a full year younger than Chekov, for God’s sake. And she was already a name to be feared. There’d been only a few pictures, all grainy and containing a flash of choppy, chin-length blonde hair and a taunting smirk, but the owner of those attributes had been seen, several times, standing close to or with one John Harrison. It was possible, although not much, that she knew the whereabouts of the murderous bastard. Jim had flashed a few of the photos around in the, ah, _less savoury_ areas of Perth and hadn’t gotten much more than a few grunts of recognition and all-round tight lips that couldn’t even be loosened with some cash. The others had said it was a lost lead, the girl could be dead or at least long-gone by now, but the Captain of the _Enterprise_ was determined to chase up anything that could lead to John Harrison until he had stone-cold proof it was a dead end.

So he’d asked around some more, walking up and down the lonely alleys of Perth, confronting criminals left and right until, _finally,_ an hour before and eight days after they’d landed in Australia, a buxom woman working in a (very illegal) brothel had nodded at him. “Yeah, I’ve seen that’un,” she’d said, taking the photo from Jim and squinting at it. “Jennifer Swift, she’s well known. Not many people know what she looks like, but.”

“And how do you know?”

“She used to work here, when she was just a little’un. Not as a hooker,” the woman had said hurriedly at Jim’s expression, “just a waitress. Used to make me call her Swift, and when she disappeared and I started hearin’ about what she does, I put two an’ two together.”

“What does she do?” He’d asked, propping his elbows on the table they spoke over and allowing a charming smile to curl at his lips. He figured it couldn’t hurt to probe a few more details out of her.

The woman had seemed eager enough to betray any information about this Jennifer Swift character. “She’s a thief. I’d say petty, but she doesn’t seem to want any of the stuff she takes.”

At this, Jim had quirked an eyebrow curiously, egging her on.

“She doesn’t charge. She can’t be hired. She goes in, does what she wants, an’ gets out again, disappears for a while, an’ then she comes back. Never in the same place.”

“Do you know where she’s been?” he asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“All over, love. She was in London once,” she said, referring to the photos Jim had shown her, “then Tasmania, then back here. I heard,” she’d lowered her voice dramatically, leaning closer to Jim and giving him an eyeful of cleavage, “that she spent a _year_ infiltratin’ some company, stole their computer program and just… ruined ’em.”

“What do you mean, ma’am? By _ruined_?”

“Ran their business to the ground, messed around with their stocks, took no money for herself. She just… wanted to watch them go down.” The woman’s voice had taken on an ominous note, and she frowned, readjusting her posture to her normal stance. “No reason, none that I heard on the street. It’s almost-“ she broke off.

“Almost what?”

“Almost as if she gets… bored. And when she gets bored, she ruins things.”

_A girl with the power to destroy people’s lives when she feels like it._

A small, unsettling sense of discomfort had settled at the pit of Jim’s stomach at this. Motive, he could deal with. People who were driven by revenge. People who were driven by anger. They were somewhat predictable, somewhat negotiable. But a nineteen-year-old girl who like to watch whole companies burn for fun, with no gain of her own? That was something he had never encountered.

Yet, when the woman (Lydia, her name had been as he’d found out) told him she’d seen the same girl entering the Underhill Bar at least three times a week, he’d gone without hesitation.

And now, he waited.

The idiots in the back started up again, clearly harassing another waitress. When Jim turned round, all he could see was a slender figure wearing the regulation waitress uniform (i.e., not much), with a dark jacket over the top, her hood pulled up. He turned back to face his drink, patting the comforting weight of his gun under his coat. If things got out of hand, he could always shoot one of them.

They soon got louder, but this time there was an angry undercurrent to their slurred words as they tried to string two words together in order to form barely-coherent ‘insults’. Jim smirked as he heard the girl’s quiet, calm voice slicing through their babble in the background. He couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying over the ruckus, but she hoped she was giving as good as she got.

The bartender, a fat, sweaty-faced man peered curiously at him while ‘cleaning’ the glasses with a filthy cloth. Jim supposed he didn’t get many Americans down his neck of the woods. Giving the man a half-smile, a mere shadow of his former smirk, he downed the rest of his drink and set the bottle down on the oak bar top. “Hey,” he said to the bartender, “can I ask you something?”

The other man grunted in reply and hoisted himself into a standing position. Jim pulled the pictures of Swift out of his pocked and slid them across the bar top. “You seen this girl?”

The bartender perused the photos for a moment, taking in the images. “Nah, mate. Can’t help you there. Sorry.” He slid them back over.

Jim knew he was lying, obviously, but didn’t press the matter. He just smiled slightly, and put the photos back in his pocket.

“You finished there, mate?” said a feminine voice from behind him. The waitress, or another one. The idiots were still yelling so he assumed it was the latter.

“Yeah, thanks.” He said, not turning around.

He watched as slim, tan fingers wrapped around he bottle’s neck. It disappeared, and then there was a moment where the idiot’s clamouring reached a crescendo and then, suddenly, ceased. It was soon followed by the sound of glass smashing and a girl’s voice shrieking “ _how’s that, asshole?!”_

Jim whirled round to see _her,_ Jennifer Swift, standing in a circle of the idiots and brandishing a broken bottle over her blonde head like a sword, smirking triumphantly down at one of the idiots who was currently out cold, having been thoroughly _thwacked_ by the glass bottle. Shards of glass littered the floor at her feet, crunching under her shoes as she thrust out her chin defiantly at her harassers. She was smaller than he’d expected, and wearing combat boots instead of the heels the other girls who worked at the bar wore. She had dark eyes, light blonde hair and looked as if she’d had to fight her way through almost every day. Jim knew the type, the runaways. Hell, he’d have been one himself if his Mom hadn’t dragged his ass back every time he’d made a break for it. They all had that same look- fierce, outwardly joking and confident, but the bags under their eyes and protruding ribs told a different story.

Dimly, he heard the bartender sigh, mutter something that sounded like “ _again_?”, and the other waitresses rush into the backroom.

One of the bigger idiots, with greasy black hair tied back with string, lurched forward, arms outstretched. Instead of jerking backwards, as Jim would have expected her to do so, Swift ducked and then pushed _up,_ smacking her forehead into Big Idiot’s face. He staggered backwards, blood spurting from his nose and running down his chin in thick rivulets, only to double over when the tiny girl’s knee slammed into his balls.  The other idiots stood, slack jawed, watching what was probably their toughest guy- _mate_ \- being bested by a girl who was probably a quarter of his weight. However, Jim reckoned that most of that weight was muscle, honed and built for speed, judging by the way she moved and how he could see her calf muscles ripple under her skin as she did so.

Jennifer Swift moved quickly, efficiently, with the practised grace and steely look in her eyes that came with learning to fight from experience, rather than lessons. She elbowed the guy between the shoulder blades, clapped her hands over his ears, and then kicked him, solidly, on the pressure point on his thigh, just above his knee.

Big Idiot toppled to the ground to join the first, groaning pathetically.

“Get out, boys. You’re done here. I don’t owe you chicken bastards _shit_. Unless you want another try?” she spat at the others, glaring fiercely enough to make a battle-hardened Klingon wet himself.

For a moment, it looked as if she was going to have to fight off the three angry-looking men herself, and Jim tensed, ready to leap to her assistance if needed. But, after a beat, the men turned and walked out, knowing that even if they managed to take the girl down, they’d suffer hell for it. The two felled men were dragged out by their collars, still unconscious.

As they went, Swift scoffed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “damn _straight_ ,” and turned back towards the bar.

“Cheers. For the bottle,” she said to him, smiling a little and brushing her hair back from her face. She appeared friendly, but her eyes were cold, staring straight at him fiercely, as if daring him to drop his gaze to her low-cut shirt and tiny shorts that did nothing to cover her tanned, peppered-with-bruises legs. 

She had an odd face, he decided, all sharp edges and knowledge beyond years that was embedded in every line, every curve. A straight, upturned nose that could’ve been cute had it not been framed by those cold eyes and the downturned mouth, which always seemed somewhat wary even when she smiled. A small spattering of freckles spanned across the bridge of her nose and the unmarked skin of her cheeks, and a thin white scar curved round the edge of her forehead. Her hair looked as if it had been hacked off with a knife, but it suited her in a weird sort of way; brushing the nape of her neck at the back and hanging to her chin at the front in thick blonde locks. She held herself in a way Jim recognised- relaxed and confident, but he could see by the way she held her arms that she was ready to throw a quick punch to his gut- or worse- if needed.

She had no weapons visible on her, but Jim would bet the _Enterprise_ that there was some kind of blade hidden in her boots, easily accessible for self-defence. He wondered if this kind of vulnerability was unusual for her, whether she covered herself with jeans and knives or if she used her body as a weapon, a tool to destroy.

The thought made him ill, and he pushed the thought from his mind. He could barely fight the rising need to give her his coat, knowing she wouldn’t take it.

When she wasn’t cursing or threatening, her voice was much softer, more hospitable. The change was a little unnerving, and Jim didn’t doubt she used this charisma to fool her victims. He could still hear the harsh edge to it, most likely fashioned from years of not knowing when your next meal was and hanging around criminals. Something in his gut twisted. She had potential, he could see that. Hell, the glimmerings of wondering how good of a recruit she’d made had started when Lydia told him about the thieving. Sure, the girl had a twisted sense of morality and a very big dark streak, but she was smart, resourceful, and would do a hell of a lot better putting her skills to good use than making businesses crumble whenever she got bored.

“No problem.” As he peered closer at her, he saw a dark bruise beginning to bloom over her jaw line, telling him she hadn’t gotten out of the fight fully unscathed. “How’s the jaw?”

“Didn’t know you were watchin’ that, mate. How’s the crew?” she countered, nodding at the badge he’d allowed to slip from the confines of his dark coat in his shock at the fight. She was quick, recognising a Starfleet Crew badge from a student at the academy.

Jim let a laugh loose from his lips, allowing a full-blown grin unfurl and tilted his head to the side, giving her a _look,_ one that had seduced many a strong woman before her. “It’s good. I’m Captain.”

“Captain…?” she asked, acknowledging his attempt to charm her with an upward flick of her dark eyes.

“Captain James T. Kirk, of the _Enterprise_. And you are?”

“Impressive title, Jim.” She retorted, smirking at his little jolt of surprise. “What, you think you can just go round flashin’ pictures of me to every second bloke and _not_ be noticed?”

“I got you here, didn’t I?”

She raised an eyebrow, her smile growing a little. Her eyes, which he realised were an oddly intense dark green, were less uninviting and more amused. “Optimism. That’s cute.”

“I’m very cute.”

Swift scoffed, flicking her eyes towards the ceiling again. “Not _that_ cute. I suppose Lydia told you about my illustrious criminal career?”

“Yeah. “

“That _bitch_. So there’s not much point in denying it, then.”

“Nah, not really. And I _am_ cute. And charming.”

She sighed. “Not my type, Jim.”

He laughed. “You’re a little young for me, Swift.”

She paused, momentarily faltering. Her calm, mature expression fell for the briefest of seconds, revealing a younger, purer innocence. “Swift?” she said, softly.

Jim wouldn’t have noticed had he not spent years carefully crafting façades similar to hers in his adolescence.

“Your last name? Right?”

“Yeah, but everyone just calls me Jenny.” The mask slid back into place, and her features took on an almost blank quality, as if she’d sculpted them from wax. Superficially a perfect replica of human emotion, but if you dug too deep it would melt.

“Alright then. Jenny.”

She frowned for a moment, almost too quickly for him to catch, then smiled again, bright and not-quite convincing. “So. What do you want?”

Jim reached inside his coat for the photos once more. “You’ve been seen, more than a few times, with one John Harrison.”

She didn’t bother denying it, taking the photos from his hand and rifling through them. “Yeah, I used to work with him around two years ago. What of it?”

“He recently committed an act if terrorism against Starfleet, killing one Captain Pike and maiming many others.” His voice hitched at the mention of his mentor, but he pressed forward.

Jenny didn’t miss the hesitation. “You knew this Pike, then?” At Jim’s nod, she smiled grimly. “So it’s personal. You want him dead?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Hm. Honest, I like that. Too many people try to deny our drive for revenge.” She sat down next to him at the bar, propping her elbows on the counter. “In that case, I’ll help you. I have some bones to pick with him.” Her fingers strayed absently to the scar on her face, tracing the spidery white line.

“How d’you know him?”

“Can’t a lady have her secrets?” she grinned winningly at him, leaning over the counter, snagging a bottle of some kind of beer left on one of the shelves.

“No.” Jim said shortly, watching as she whacked the lid on the corner of the counter, loosening the seal.

She raised an eyebrow and took a swig. “Fine. He wanted me to help him get some kind of records. Before you ask, he never told me who. He just needed me to hack into a system, and then let him do the rest.”

“Why did you help him? Did he pay you?” Jim asked, already knowing the answer.

“I was bored. I’m not for hire.”

“If you’re not for hire, why did you help him?”

“Same reason I’m helpin’ you, mate. He wanted revenge on someone who hurt his family.”

“He killed innocent people-“

“Mm,” Jenny interrupted, through a mouthful of alcohol. She swallowed, and continued, “How d’you know?”

“I… I know because Pike wouldn’t have done anything to anyone’s family that wasn’t justified.”

“What _is_ justified?” she wondered aloud, tilting her head up to gaze at the ceiling of the bar.

“What?”

Giving him a sidelong glance full of irritation, she said, “Relativism. Your justice is another’s crime. And maybe it wasn’t Pike he was after. Maybe Pike was just a casualty.”

Jim looked down at his hands, still covered in little scratches and cuts from the shower of glass that had fallen on him during Harrison’s attack. “What was he like?”

“Meaning?” Jenny questioned, frowning.

“What was he like to work with? Did you have much contact with him?”

She pursed her lips. “Serious. Didn’t show a lot of emotion, but when he did it was… intense.”

“Meaning?” Jim shot back at her, and she gave him a fleeting grin, revealing pearly white, albeit somewhat crooked, teeth. He vaguely wondered how she managed to keep them in such good condition.

“He could get angry, real quick. Slammed me into a wall, once, but I made it clear that if he tried anythin’ again, it would be the end of our agreement.”

“You didn’t beat him up?”

She uttered a short bark of laughter, the sound harsher than her normal tones. “He’s freakishly strong, mate. And quick. Those guys,” she jerked a thumb behind her, towards where the Idiots had made their getaway, “only relied on brute force.”

“What _did_ they want?”

“What do men like that always want? A piece of ass.” She gestured to herself, primarily her chest area. Jim diverted his eyes. “Anyway. Jo- Harrison,” she corrected herself, “trained to fight his whole life, and was bigger than me. He had skill I’d never seen before.”

“That’s… worrying.” Jim said, running his hands through his hair.

Jenny hummed in agreement, drumming the fingers of the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her drink against the bar top. “Certainly is, Captain.”

“How did you two meet?” Jim asked.

She laughed. “You make it sound as if we were a couple.”

“Were you?” He retorted, before he could stop himself.

The look she gave him at the comment, all withering glare with a helping of bitchface, told him the answer was no. “He contacted me through a few, uh, _influential_ persons,” she cast another sidelong glance at him, “whose names I’m not mentionin’.”

Jim frowned, but nodded.

She continued, “he asked me to meet him in some little bar, kinda like this, and he said he needed me to get into a computer system.”

“Which computer system?”

She cast him a disgruntled look. “I’m gettin’ there, Jesus,” she muttered. “ _Patience,_ child.”

“Jenny-“

“OK, OK. It was… Starfleet. That’s all I know. I had to hack into the system, get up a few files on somethin’ classified. J-  _Harrison,_ made it pretty clear he didn’t want me lookin’.”

“And you did as he said?” Jim queried, unconvinced.

“I wasn’t interested, an’ it was his business. Don’t get me wrong,” she held up a finger, shaking it a little, “if I _was_ interested, I’d be in there like a shot. But…”

“You didn’t care?”

“Nah. I wasn’t in the wreckin’ mood.”

Jim nodded, once. “What was your relationship with Harrison?” He hadn’t missed the way she kept going to say ‘John’.

Jenny bit her lip, chewing on the flesh before speaking. “I- it’s- I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I need to know how much of a help you could be, Jenny.”

“You mean you need to know if you can use me as _bait_? Is that what you do, _Captain?_ Dangle girls in front of men you want to kill? Because that won’t _fuckin’_ work. John won’t care, not even if you slit my throat in front of him. Not anymore, you got that?” she snapped, the mask slipping once more to reveal a darker, more sinister side to the young girl. When she was angry, all her cracks and scars, all the shadows that stopped her smile from reaching her eyes were there for all to see.

It disappeared almost as soon as the mask had, replaced by cool calmness. She cleared her throat, but didn’t apologise for the outburst, keeping her gaze locked on his.

“I meant, so that if you come with the _Enterprise_ to find Harrison, he won’t shoot us all on the spot as soon as he sees you.” Jim amended, softly so that she knew he wasn’t offended. “I get it, Jenny.”

She scoffed. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking away from her and clasping his hands, “you think you’re close to someone. Then you realise they didn’t care. It hurts, right?”

Jenny looked down, nodded. “Like a bitch,” she said.

Jim laughed. “Right,” he added, “like a bitch.”

“He- he was nice, at first. Treated me like I was smart, which doesn’t happen very often. Like,” she said, her tongue darting out to wet her chapped bottom lip, “a lot of the people in my line of work… they see what I do, but they don’t… they think I’m stupid, as if it’s just luck that gets me through. You know?”

He didn’t, but he nodded anyway.

“And… John, he seemed to know what I was capable of straight away. He was respectful, knew when I needed to be taken care of and when I could handle myself. He didn’t make me feel weak, but I always knew I was safe.”

‘And then he changed?” Jim asked, carefully.

“As soon as he had the files, he tried to- um,” she tugged her shirt to the side a little, revealing a thick, twisting scar trailing down from her right collarbone, ugly and coarse against the tanned skin of her chest. Jim had seen enough scars in his life to know this one had been no quick slashing; Harrison had held this girl down, dragged a blade across her skin when she’d been- _god_ \- topless. He didn’t want to think how they’d gotten in that position. Judging by her expression, neither did Jenny.

“Kill you?” Jim asked, shocked.

“Yeah. You see why I wanna get even?”

He nodded.

“So…” she said, suddenly bright and cheerful, as if she hadn’t revealed exactly _why_ she wanted to kill the man he was hunting, “I’m comin’ with you?”

“Sure are, Jenny.” He grinned at her, taking out his communicator to type a quick message to Scotty.

“What if I don’t want to?” she asked, frowning at him, but with a glint in her eye that told him she was as excited as he was.

He slid off the barstool, facing Jenny fully as she took another long drag from her bottle.

“Jennifer Swift. You are under arrest for the assistance of murderous criminal, John Harrison,”, he said, ignoring her undignified spluttering and small shriek, “and a number of other things I don’t care to list right now, as we’ll be here all night if I do. The reason you could evade capture eludes me. Come quietly, or I’ll have to pinch your nose.”

“You tricky _bastard,_ ” Jenny said, scandalised, but didn’t look entirely unamused.

“Sorry. Well, I lie, this is entertaining, and I’m not sorry at all.”

She huffed. “Can I at least tell my boss I’m quittin’?”

“You _actually_ work here?” Jim had thought it was a ruse, that she stole a uniform to keep an eye on him.

“I don’t steal my money. I have to pay the bills somehow, mate.”

He fumbled for a moment, considering, and then nodded.

Jenny grinned at him, then pounded on the bar top with her fist. “ _OI!_ Peter!”

The backroom door creaked open, and the bartender’s round, sweaty face peered round it. “What? You done with those bastards?”

“Yeah, boss. I’m done here, too. I’m quittin’. Take care, now.” The girl’s voice softened a little at the last few words.

The bartender rolled his eyes, but gave her a kind smile. “Yeah, yeah. Drop in every now and then, would you?”

“I’ll be comin’ back for my pay, Peter.”

The bartender scoffed loudly, waving her away and disappearing out the back again.

“Done?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. Cuff me, Jimmy. Take me away.” She exclaimed theatrically, taking one last gulp of her beer before holding out her wrists to him.

As protocol demanded, he cuffed her.

By the time they out onto the busy Perth street, and Jim was calling the _Enterprise_ to beam them out, the key in his pocket was gone and she was holding the handcuffs out to him, a smirk playing around the corners of her mouth.

 _This should be interesting,_ he thought, as Scotty beamed them up.


	2. All the Sinners Crawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jenny meets the crew, and Jim tries to convince Uhura to let her stay.

  
“What the _hell_ are you _doing,_ Kirk?” Uhura demanded, glaring fiercely at him.

“Finding a lead.”

“What lead?! The girls was in a few _pictures-_ “

“Twelve-“

“Whatever!” Uhura hissed, keeping her voice down so as to not attract attention.

Jenny was receiving attention enough, having strutted onto the Bridge, practically dragging Jim behind her and striking up a conversation with Chekov and Sulu seconds after stating, “ooh, he’s _adorable_ ”, in the Captain’s ear upon seeing the young Ensign. They were bemused, to say the very least. Well, Sulu was. Poor Chekov seemed almost ready to faint as soon as the girl started batting her lashes at him. She was currently leaning over the edge of his station, biting her lip at him in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a nineteen-year-old. Her blonde hair was washed and was slightly wavy, her face scrubbed clean of the makeup she’d been forced to wear at her job as a result of the sonic shower she’d taken as soon as she was on-board, with Jim waiting outside, keeping guard.

“Make sure you’re not too loud,” he’d said to her as they’d walked to the Bridge. “I just want a quiet meeting before I… ah, _introduce_ you to everyone.”

“C’mon, Jimmy,” she’d replied, rolling her eyes as he cuffed her again. “It’s as if you don’t trust me at all!”

It wasn’t _exactly_ the quiet meeting with Spock and the others that he had envisioned, but he resolved to fix it as Uhura grabbed him and hauled his ass into a corner with surprising strength. “She _worked_ with the guy, Uhura,” Jim retorted, ignoring the eye-roll he received in return, “she can help us.”

“You arrested a nineteen-year-old girl for no apparent reason other than that she happened to know the man we are looking for? _Two years ago,_ I might add?”

“OK, OK. I know it’s… not ideal,” at this, Uhura scoffed and looked away, “but there’s a chance. Plus, she was doing some damage out there, and I think- I _think,”_ he lowered his voice, “she’d make an excellent recruit.”

He didn’t add the unbidden _she could be like me, she’s like I was_ that rose to the back of his throat, desperate to break free.

And she was. A lost, young kid caught up in the trouble she’d caused herself. A _smart_ lost kid. Smart enough to know when she was beaten, smart enough to know how to make herself known so there was no chance of her ‘disappearing’. Jim wasn’t an idiot- he could see the glimmer of fear in Jenny’s eyes when he’d told her to be quiet, the fear that he’d torture her for information as soon as he could get her alone, she wasn’t being loud and obnoxious for no reason; he’d been in a few situations himself where being loud and obnoxious was his only chance at getting out alive. With the right training, she could really _be_ something, he knew it. Maybe it was just nostalgia, his sentimental streak tugging at his heartstrings as soon as he saw a kid who reminded him of a younger Jim Kirk. But maybe, the raw potential, the fighting spirit he saw in her eyes and the way she held herself was real.

Uhura raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at Jenny. He turned to look at her. The girl in question was standing, clad in someone else’s jeans and shirt he’d managed to scrounge up for her (she’d refused to get rid of her boots, but had reluctantly handed over the wickedly sharp knife concealed in them), chatting casually to Chekov who was looking somewhat awestruck. She had also slipped her cuffs, _again._

“Dammit,” Jim breathed. They’d been good cuffs, too.

“Wasn’t she…?” Uhura questioned, and he nodded.

“Yeah, she does that.”

She shut her eyes for a moment, seemingly willing herself not to land a punch to her Captain’s gut. “How is she gonna be a good recruit, may I ask?”

“She singlehandedly destroyed a multi-billion dollar company for the fun of it, taking no money for herself and beat up two men twice her size using only a beer bottle and her fists.”

Uhura stared at him, the words slowly sinking into her brain. “Oh," she said, reluctantly. "Yeah, I see your point.”

“Do you think we should help Chekov out?” Jim asked his friend, who was watching the two younger people with interest.

The Russian boy was blushing slightly as Jenny touched his arm and smiled at him, apparently oblivious to the fact she was not a crewmember and it seemed as if she had simply wandered on to the ship. Sulu was clearly trying to smother a laugh, looking on as his friend stuttered.

 _Huh,_ Jim thought. Jenny wasn’t all that pretty, but she had a way of widening her eyes a little and parting her lips that seemed to make Chekov weak at the knees.

“… I think he’s fine.” Uhura said, which was basically an Uhura way of telling him _God no, that’s cute._

“Right,” he said, unconvinced, and beckoned to his crewmember to step out of the Bridge with him.

“What are we going to do with her, in the meantime?”

“There’s spare rooms, down near Engineering. We can put her in one of them, lock her in for the better part of the day, let her out for a couple hours and when we need her, find the guy then drop her back.”  _Or not,_ was the unbidden thought that rose to the surface.  _We could take her in._

“You make it sound so simple, Kirk. What if she turns out to be a bad egg, what then? You said she brought down a multi-billion dollar company on her own. Who’s to say she won’t get _bored_ and do the same to the _Enterprise_?”

“She wants to help us.”

“You’re sure she’s not lying? That she’s not still in league with Harrison and is helping _him_?”

“Either way, she has information, right?”

The Lieutenant slapped a hand to her forehead. “Ugh!” she exclaimed.

“Come _ooooon_ ,” Jim whined, “ _please,_ Uhura. What's the worst she could do, locked up?”

" _She slipped her cuffs in the space of thirty seconds-_ "

"We could put her in a high security room!"

"Can we spare the man-power?" Uhura asked, casting another glance towards Jenny. "If she's as capable as you say, we'll need more than one."

"The guys she beat up were hardly _Starfleet_ material, Uhura. And anyway, I prefer the gender-neutral term  _person_ power, don't be sexist."

She levelled him with a solemn glare, one that would usually make him lunge for the nearest exit if he wasn’t so desperate.

“For Pike, if not for me.”

Those were the magic words apparently, as the glare dropped straight after they were uttered. She sighed. “You’re the Captain.”

A wide grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I know.” He turned towards Jenny, beckoning wildly at her. “I hereby decree Jennifer Swift a passenger on this vessel!” He said loudly, spreading his arms wide in a dramatic welcome, receiving stares from random crew members aboard the  _Enterprise._

“Whatever, Kirk. Are you even allowed to do this?” Uhura asked, chewing her lip nervously.

“Mason did say ‘whatever it takes’, right?”

“I… I guess so.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow at him (it seemed to be her standard response for most things), and gave Chekov one last flirty grin, waving at Sulu before practically skipping over to join Jim and Uhura. “Yes, Jimmy?” she asked, smirking.

“Making friends?” Uhura interjected, somewhat warily.

“You have a great crew, from what I’ve seen so far.” She said, nodding in the direction of the Ensign and other Lieutenant.

“You mean you think Chekov is, and I quote, ‘adorable’. End quote.” Jim said, using air quotes to punctuate.

“Who? Oh, _Pavel_?”

“Weeelll,” he said, “on a first name basis already, are we?”

Jenny waved her hand. “Details, details.”

“Don’t go breaking his heart. I don’t want any moping on my ship.”

She uttered a short little laugh. “ _Please_. I’m no heart-breaker.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jim said sagely to Uhura.

The linguistics expert sighed at him.

Jenny coughed, gaining his attention. “So what is it?”

Jim smiled. He was already beginning to understand that the young girl didn’t like to be kept waiting. “We’re gonna take you in for questioning, just tell them what you told me, answer truthfully, and you’ll be fine.”

“Them?” she asked, wariness creeping into the edges of her voice despite her sunny exterior.

“Spock and Lieutenant Uhura.” He felt the latter jolt a little at the mention of her name.

“Why do you choose us, Captain?” she asked.

“I need to be on the Bridge. Spock’s next in command, he should be there.”

“And me?”

“You’re good with the questioning, peace-making stuff.” Jim waved Spock over as he said this, “can you fill him in?”

“Yes, Kirk.” Uhura rolled her eyes.

He grinned at her, patted Jenny on the shoulder and said, “see you later, kiddo”, then waltzed off, presumably to attend to his Captainly duties.

“We should do this in Medical,” the exasperated Lieutenant said to the younger girl, looking pointedly at the bruise on her jaw, “you’ll need to be examined anyway, might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“Rightio,” Jenny said, her accent rounding out the _ight_ and making it broader than it had to be.

Uhura eyed her, a small smile quirking up the edges of her lips. “C’mon.”


	3. From Ash and Dust

Jenny stared critically at the handsome, albeit incredibly disillusioned with pretty much _everything_ , man who’d gruffly introduced himself as “Doctor McCoy”, and sighed. He had her chin grasped between two fingers, holding her head still as he surveyed the silvery scars littering her head, and the dark purple bruise that was spreading across her jaw.

‘Medical’ was pretty much like any other hospital Jenny had seen on TV, white and clean and clinical, devoid of any human touches, anything that could tell her about the people who surrounded her. There were no knick-knacks, no posters promoting healthy living, not even cartoon bandaids to liven the place up. The pure _absence_ of the place freaked her out; when she went to be stitched up, it was usually in some backroom of Lydia’s pub or the _Underhill,_ an old rag clamped between her teeth and a little vodka, if she was in bad enough of a state for Peter to stop being such a tight-arse, to numb the pain. She’d never been anywhere _this_ fancy.

“Don’t huff at me, girl,” he muttered exasperatedly, probably trying to ignore the Vulcan loitering over his shoulder.

Jenny let loose another pointed sigh, just to irritate him, grinning when he gave her an _are you serious_ stare. He shook his head, muttering to himself.

“Miss Swift, are you currently aware of John Harrison’s whereabouts?” the Vulcan guy asked her- Slock? Smock?

“No.”

“Do you have any idea where he could be?“

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rose even further (she hadn’t though it possible). “Really?”

“Hah. No.” Jenny said, pleased to see Doctor Grumpy-pants’ scowl disappear for a moment, replaced by a tiny grin.

The pretty dark-skinned woman, whose name escaped her (God she was bad with those), sighed again. “Miss Swift-“

“Call me Jenny.”

“ _Jenny,_ ” she amended,“please be serious.”

She huffed again. “Fine, fine.”

“Jenny,” Eyebrows asked her, testing the word in his mouth and rolling his tongue over the syllables, as if she was some experiment. He was clearly uncomfortable at using her nickname; “it would be exponentially helpful if you could outline how you met John Harrison, and how you came to part ways with him.”

Jenny bit her lip. She didn’t particularly _enjoy_ revisiting that part of her life, but it was necessary. “I met him when I was seventeen.” She paused, furrowing her brow.

“Elaborate.” He said, perhaps a little _too_ brusquely.

Aurora or whatever _tsked_ at him, which he seemed to take on board. He cleared his throat. “My apologies. If you would-“

Jenny waved her hand at him impatiently. “I get it, mate.”

Eyebrows frowned. “I am not your sexual partner. Uhura-” he cut himself off, pressing his lips together.

 _Oh,_ Jenny thought. _Well then._

Who she now presumed to be Uhura looked away, chewing her lip in an effort to stop from laughing. Or maybe shouting. “Oh my God,” she muttered.

Doctor Grumpy-pants snorted unprofessionally, almost spraying Jenny with his spit. “It’s slang, Spock,” he said in his rough tones. His voice made her think of the burn of whiskey, golden and sharp.

Eyebrows- _Spock-_ frowned again. “Oh. A colloquial term.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m gonna ignore that.”

“Continue.”

“Um, we met through some people in the same line of work as me. Thievin’, and that. He needed me to do some work for him.”

“What kind of work?” this time, it was Uhura who spoke. “Did he want you to steal some kind of technology?” she twisted her hands together, as if she were itching to use them in another way- maybe to hit someone, presumably Spock.

“No,” she shook her head. “He needed me to hack into a Starfleet database.”

The three others in the room visibly tensed, staring at her. Jenny knew what was running through their minds- they thought she was responsible for the death of their friends. She was thinking it herself, to be honest.

“Why?” Spock asked.

“He needed information on someone.”

“D’you know who?” Doctor Grumpy-pants asked.

“No,” and at the group’s disappointed looks, she added, “but I can find out.”

Spock looked sceptical (he somehow managed this with only a slight raise of his eyebrows), asking, “how?”

“I, uh, wasn’t allowed to see exactly what the documents _were,_ ” Jenny responded, sheepishly, “and that kinda… pissed me off. So I… um,”

“Spit it out, kid,” Doctor Grumpy-pants griped. “So…?”

“So, I put a marker on the file. Like, a little flag that can only be accessed by me, so I could open it later. I never really got round to it, though.” She chewed her lip. It was almost bitten raw from the amount of times she’d sunk her teeth into the flesh.

“Why?”

She grimaced. “When J- Harrison and I stopped workin’ together, he ah, left me with a little… partin’ gift.” With another twisted expression, Jenny tugged down the collar of her shirt to reveal the scar.

Upon seeing the mangled, twisted injury that marred her skin from her collarbone down to her hip, Spock’s eyes widened marginally, Uhura grimaced, and Doctor Grumpy-pants spat out a shocked “well, _shit_ ,”.

Leaning closer, he examined the scar critically. “Harrison did this to you?”

“Yeah.” _After everything we’d been through together, after I_ trusted _him,_ she wanted to add, but the words stuck in her throat, clogged with years of bitter feelings of betrayal and hurt.

“Take off your shirt.” He said.

Jenny automatically recoiled, tensing her body, bringing up her knee in preparation to slam it into his balls, if needed, and so that the knife she’d hidden in her boot was within reach. Yeah, Jim had caught her out with one of them, but he hadn’t thought to ask her about a second blade. “ _What?_ ” she snapped.

“Cool it, kid,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if she was overreacting. “I just wanna better look at it.”

“Why? There’s nothin’ you can do for it, anyway.” Jenny said defensively, remaining tense.

He levelled her with a stern stare. “Just do it.”

She looked away from Doctor Grumpy-pants, past Spock and to the kind, albeit tired, face of Uhura. The older woman nodded, saying, “He won’t hurt you.”

Jenny fought the urge to scoff. If he tried, she could always take him on. He was a doctor, not a soldier, didn’t matter whether he was _Starfleet_ or not. She nodded, and slipped the shirt over her head so she was sitting on the examination table in nothing but a pair of dark pants and the one bra she’d taken with her, since Jim hadn’t allowed her to pack. “ _Asshole_ ,” she hissed quietly, so only the Doctor could hear. He grumbled something intelligible in return. Jenny entertained the thought that it was some form of apology for a moment, and then thought better of it.

Her bra was black, not particularly sexy or revealing but still a _bra,_ with frayed lace around the edges and a small blue bow in the middle.

She felt exposed, not fragile yet somehow weaker than before, subject to these strange men’s gazes and Uhura’s shock.

The scar was an unforgiving, ugly thing, a dark pink colour despite the fact it had been two years since the injury had been inflicted upon her, coursing between her breasts from her right collarbone, across the wiry muscle of her abdomen to her left hip.

“This was deliberate.” Doctor Grumpy-pants said harshly, his long callused fingers flexing for a moment, as if deliberating whether or not to trace the scar, and then seemingly changing his mind.

 _Good,_ she thought. She didn’t know whether she’d be able to hold back from whipping her knife across his scrunched-up face if he’d done so. “Yes. It was.” She affirmed, teeth gritted.

“Why?”

Jenny barked out a half-laugh, the sound harsh and grating even to her own ears. “No. I finished the job, and next thing I knew he’d pinned me-“ she cut herself off, voice catching. She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t _quick,_ as you can probably tell. It hurt,”

“No shit,” Doctor Grumpy-pants said, and she focused on the mocking undertone to his voice rather than the piteous gaze of Uhura and the emotionless stare of her Vulcan boyfriend. “Who healed you?”

Jenny frowned, her lips twisting as she recalled the moment she’d woken up after fainting from the pain of Jo- _Harrison_ carving into her skin. “Nobody. At least, nobody I remember. I woke up,” she said, gesturing to the scar, “and it was closed up. No stitches that I could see. I think someone healed me and left before I woke up.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, Uhura said, “that’s lucky, I guess.” Her voice was disbelieving, but Jenny didn’t care.

“Recount the moment John Harrison did this to you, please.” Came the abrupt sound of Spock’s voice, flat and somewhat irritating.

She took a deep breath, exhaling noisily through her nostrils. “Well, he uh- he was holding me down. He’s strong,” she said, “stronger than you can imagine. And he used the knife to cut open my shirt, then he- uh.”

“He…?” Uhura asked, gently encouraging.

“He cut me.”

“Is- is that all?” the Lieutenant asked, dark eyes concerned and warm.

“Yes.” Jenny replied, answering the unspoken question, the question she’d seen in Jim’s eyes when he first saw her, fighting off those men in such a way she knew that _he_ knew she’d done it before, for the same reason. She saw the way his gaze had flicked over her scantily-clad form, not appraising but wondering if she’d ever failed to fight them off before.

 “Did you at least get a hit in?” Doctor Grumpy-pants asked, and Jenny huffed out a laugh.

“I got to my own knife, managed to cut open his cheek,” she said, and suddenly her mind was flooded with images of _his_ face, piercing eyes boring into hers as the crimson blood dripped from his chin, mixing with the blood that flowed from her open wound. His eyes had almost been shocked, and then his lips had quirked at the corners as if he was amused. Then, the warmth of his hands was gone and he was walking away. All she’d seen before her vision had gone fuzzy and dark was his long, black coat that he wore even in the Perth heat swishing around the corner of the small apartment he’d lived in.

“And when you woke up, you were healed?”

“Sort of. The wound was closed, but I had to wait until a friend came to check up on me to make sure it wouldn’t split again.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” Uhura said warmly, resting a slim hand on her shoulder.

The others seemed to decide it was better to not question her further.

“Yes, thank you.”

“No problem, Spock.”

“Miss- Jenny,” the Vulcan corrected himself, “will your history with John Harrison be a problem in his capture?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“Will he be more likely to be hostile towards-“

“No,” Jenny could almost feel Harrison standing behind her, like he always had, reassuring and constant, if a little cold and serious. She’d spent weeks trying to get him to laugh when they’d started working together, holed up in that little apartment. She’d told him every joke she could think of, from knock-knocks to long, elaborate stories to political to sexual (which had made him decidedly uncomfortable). In the end, she could only ever get a small quirking of the lips, and it seemed more as if it was only to appease her instead of actual amusement.

 _He isn’t constant,_ she reminded herself. _He tried to kill you, in the end. He isn’t reassuring. He means nothing._ “I meant nothing to him.”


	4. On This Drunken Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we gain insight into our favourite child prodigy's thoughts.

  
Pavel Chekov stared at where the blonde girl- _Jenny,_ he corrected himself, _she likes to be called Jenny_ \- had stood, a mere half-hour before and bit his lip.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time a girl had talked to him, definitely not. He was well aware of the effect he had on most of the female (and a few of the male) members of the _Enterprise,_ what with his big eyes, curly hair, foreign accent that made him throw his whole body into trying to twist his mouth around the _w_ and _v_ ’s of the English language. That, coupled with his status as child prodigy (emphasis on the _child,_ despite the fact he was twenty, now), made him the most adorable thing since… well, ever.

But it wasn’t all fun and games, he soon realised, after he’d been –ugh- _cooed_ at one too many times. By women who were shorter than he was, to boot. It was difficult to prove oneself if one was constantly seen as a child. He now had an idea of how women must have felt pursuing ‘manly’ jobs in the 21st Century. Yes, he _had_ read those books Uhura had been speaking to him about. They were fascinating. And he now may or may not have a poster of Wendy Davis hanging up in the tiny room he shared with Sulu. Along with Rosa Parks. And Alexander Poniatov, the Russian who had invented the video recorder. Nobody believed him when he spouted that particular fact, but he didn’t mind all that much, especially when he had found proof. Six pages, to be exact. _That_ had wiped the smirk off of Kirk’s face.

 _Captain Kirk,_ Pavel reminded himself.

Jenny was not the only woman to show interest, but she was by far the most forward and probably the most interes _ting_. She’d strode right up to him, lips parted slightly in a coy smile and eyes wide, and introduced herself to him in a way that made his palms sweat and his heart beat a little irregularly. This nineteen year old girl, in someone else’s clothes, and who smelled like disinfectant had managed to make him stutter like he was a teenage boy all over again.

Well. A _criminal mastermind_ nineteen year old girl, who was probably an expert in deception and manipulation had made him stutter like a teenage boy. This, he decided, wasn’t as pathetic. He had simply (temporarily) fallen victim to her _femme fatale_ attitude.

Well. He wasn’t entirely sure, but all those old detective holovids that Scotty and he had watched when there was nothing else to do had included _femme fatales,_ and he was pretty sure they were meant to be Americans with a sultry pout and a gun, not Australians who would probably never pout and didn’t need an automatic weapon. Plus, the _femme fatales_ he had watched on the holovids were created in a fairly sexist era where, more often than not, they weren’t so much _evil_ as simply unwilling to dedicate themselves to the gratification of men.

 _But I digress,_ he thought, and then proceeded to nod to himself approvingly at the correct use of the English phrase.

“Chekov.” Sulu remarked from his seat. “You’re staring at nothing.”

Pavel cleared his throat. “ _Nyet_ \- ah, _no._ I am not.”

The Lieutenant snorted. “Yeah, you’re right. You were staring at her ass. Which left a half-hour ago, I might add.”

“ _I was not staring at her-_ at her- I wasn’t.” the younger man finished lamely, glaring at his desk.

He most definitely was _not_ staring at Jenny’s ass. Although it was probably nice.

“Staring at who?” Captain Kirk said from behind them, and they both jumped.

Pavel didn’t answer, simply stared at the man, his mouth agape and working furiously to form words.

“No-one, sir.” Sulu said calmly.

Kirk ignored him, eyes fixed on Pavel. “Chekov?”

“N-no, sir.” Pavel almost rolled his eyes at the squeakiness of his own voice. _Way to go,_ he reprimanded himself, _real impressive._

Their Captain hunkered down, until he was inches away and squinted at him. More so than usual. “A word of advice, Chekov.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t trust that girl.”

He wanted to ask _why not,_ but knowing the Captain, Kirk would probably just answer that anyway, and Pavel really didn’t want to get in the way of his dramatics.

“She may seem like a sweet kid,” here, Sulu cleared his throat at the word _sweet,_ causing their Captain to rethink his words, “OK so not _that_ sweet. But she may seem like she’s not evil, but I’ve seen what she’s capable of and she very well could be. Got it?”

Pavel nodded silently. He wasn’t an idiot, he wanted to say, but his Captain already knew that and was probably just taking precautions. _Yet,_ a small voice in his head whispered, _he’s not warning Sulu._

He was well aware of the dangers Jenny posed. She was clearly used to violence, anyone could see that, and had ties with a dangerous criminal. Kirk had sent them all a file on her, and her list of crimes that she hadn’t been caught doing was almost eight pages long. The list of crimes she _had_ been caught doing was limited to when she stole a police officer’s bike at the age of thirteen.

Her personality and bio had been written by Doctor McCoy, sent in minutes before, and the words _on edge_ and _unco-operative_ had been probably the least soldier-like of her qualities. She was dangerous, able to manipulate others to her will, and seemed to react violently to the smallest of stimuli.

He was young, not a complete idiot.

“Send a message to Medical, tell Bones to bring her back up here.” With that, Kirk executed a kind of pirouette with his arms crossed, sauntered back to his chair, and then plopped onto it, devoid of his usual Captainly grace.

Note the sarcasm.

“Aye, Captain.” Pavel affirmed, bringing up a communication holovid to Medical. “Chekov to McCoy, please confirm.”

The Doctor’s eternally scowling face appeared on the screen. “I confirm, Chekov. No need to be so damn formal, it’s only me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologise, kid.”

“S- alright, sir.”

“Is that Pavel?” Jenny’s voice, from behind McCoy. “Hey there.”

“Hello, Jenny.” He tried to keep from grinning as she shoved McCoy to the side, her choppy blonde hair mussed, as if she’d been running her fingers through it.

He thought of how _he’d_ like to be the one to mess up her hair, then expelled the errant wondering, eyes darting to Sulu as if the Lieutenant could somehow guess what she was thinking.

“How’s my favourite child prodigy?” she asked, ignoring McCoy’s gruff demands that she _move outta the goddamn way_.

“I’m the only child prodigy you know, Jenny.” He reminded her, feeling the blush creep up his neck nonetheless.

 _Bog,_ he thought. _This is embarrassing._

“Excuse you,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him, “I’m a child prodigy.”

“Can you speak seven languages?” Pavel asked playfully.

“Non, je parle seulement Anglaise et Française, et un petit peu d’Italien.” She retorted. Her accent was good, if a little too broad to be fluent. “Mais j'étais trop occupé à être un génie du crime.”

 “Well then.” He replied, smirking at her. “That settles it.”

“Alright,” McCoy interjected venomously, “can you two take the bedroom eyes elsewhere, please? Chekov here has a message.” He tugged Jenny out the way, and she managed to give him one last smile and wave before she was effectively out of the picture.

“ _Nyet_ \- it wasn’t bedroom eyes, sir, I-“ he protested, reaching over to punch Sulu in the arm for snickering, but McCoy cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Just get on with it, kid.” He demanded, his scowl furrowing even deeper into his skin.

Pavel sighed. “Captain Kirk would appreciate it if you escorted Jenny to the Bridge, if you are finished, sir.”

McCoy gave a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh, one that many were plagued with if they had short tempers and prolonged exposure to James T. Kirk, and nodded at him. “I’ll be there in a minute, Chekov.”

The screen went blank, but not before he heard Jenny laughing at the Doctor’s attempts to tell her off.

“I like her,” Sulu commented, “even if she is kind of weird.”

“ _Bedroom eyes?_ ” their Captain demanded. “I can’t believe her, sometimes.”

“You’ve known her less than a day, Captain.” Sulu reminded him.

“She’s still- ugh- _bedroom eyes?_ ” he asked again. “She’s nineteen!”

Pavel winced at the unnaturally high tone Kirk’s voice took on.

“And _you,_ ” he whirled on the young Ensign, “don’t let yourself be… seduced, either.”

Sulu snorted again as Pavel tried to make sense of what the Captain was saying.

“With all due respect, Captain,” he started carefully. “I am not so… _slabyy…_ weak.”

Kirk sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, and then rubbing his jaw. “Right, of course. Sorry.”

An apology from their Captain is rare, at least a proper one, and it left Pavel a little shocked. “ _Da,_ Captain Kirk.”

It was at that moment that Doctor McCoy came striding in, his hands firmly planted on the shoulders of Jenny, pushing her towards Kirk.

“Bones!” Kirk cried gleefully. “You brought the prisoner. Excellent.”

Jenny rolled her dark eyes at him, wriggling from McCoy’s grasp. “I prefer the term ‘Resident Criminal’, thanks mate.”

“Resident Headcase, more like,” McCoy muttered, crossing his arms.

“Doctor G- er, McCoy insisted on manhandling me.” She sighed, frowning at Kirk. “I don’t see _why,_ but.”

“It might have a little somethin’ to do with the fact that you’re a known associate with a murderer.”

“Bones, she got out of Starfleet-issue handcuffs _twice,_ if she wanted to disappear, she would have.” Jim told his lead Medical officer. “You don’t need to manhandle her.”

Doctor McCoy only grunted in response, glaring at Jenny when she smiled winningly at him. He was clearly unconvinced.

“Hi again, Pavel. Hikaru,” she added, nodding at the Lieutenant.

They both nodded and smiled in greeting, choosing not to speak as their Captain narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“Stop it,” he said.

“I’m only saying _hi,_ God.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Still.” He replied, and levelled her with a Class T for _threatening_ James Kirk glare, very uncommonly known as the Captainly Scowl of Doom (Pavel was very proud of the name, which had gotten him a high-five from Sulu and even a slight smile from Uhura).

To her credit, Jenny only looked slightly unsettled.

“What’s the verdict, Bones?” Jim said, startling everyone with another one of his rapid mood-swings.

“I already sent you all a bio,” the Doctor grumbled.

“You called me _rude_.” Jenny commented. “Which is hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“Which no-one did.” McCoy retorted, although there was a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth as he glared at her.

“Rude.” She remarked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “That was rude.”

“I _meant,_ ” Kirk interrupted, “can she be useful?”

“I’m a Doctor, Jim,” he replied, “not a psychologist.”

“That’s a kind of Doctor…” Pavel muttered, and everyone ignored him with the exception of Jenny, who gave him an approving smirk.

“Just humour me, will you?” the Captain said, as if this _humouring_ was not something that Doctor McCoy was saddled with every day.

As it was, the other man sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples, as if to ward off an oncoming migraine. Which he probably was, considering the _fignya_ that McCoy had to put up with on a daily basis. “She doesn’t know where he is, but then again that was a long-shot anyway. She knows his habits, though, and that could help us in trackin’ him down.”

“Excellent! We have a Doctor’s approval. Let’s get this party _started._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Nyet- no
> 
> Bog- God
> 
> Slabyy- weak
> 
> Fignya- bullshit, baloney, et cetera (I think I prefer to imagine Chekov saying baloney rather than swearing)
> 
> (reminder: these are phonetic versions of Russian words, and they are very rough, please correct me if I am wrong)
> 
> Non, je parle seulement Anglaise et Française, et un petit peu d’Italien- No, I speak only English and French, and a little bit of Italian.
> 
> Mais j'étais trop occupé à être un génie du crime- but I was too busy being a criminal mastermind.
> 
>  
> 
> Please read and review! Any criticisms, thought, commentaries et cetera are much appreciated :)


	5. Time to Begin

_Khan stared down pensively at the rocks below him, long coat flapping out behind him in the wind like the wings of a crow in flight. He struck a powerful figure, a dark blemish against the smooth stone of the cave he stood in. Had that not always been the case? He was the black smudge against the otherwise perfect complexion, the shadow against the Earth, the vengeful monster, clacking his hideous claws, gnashing his blood-drenched teeth viciously and belching black smoke onto his jailors’ corpses. He reached out a long-fingered hand to the horizon, as if to trace the burnt orange of the setting sun._

_His other hand traced the non-existent scar on his cheek, a mark that had been healed long ago by his superior biology, but the shadow of the blade that had been clutched in one trembling hand, still remained. The small portable computer beeped in his pocket, and he took his hand away from his cheek to flip it open. A notification message told him, in concise terms, that there was an update in the Starfleet records. It pertained to the crew of the Enterprise, upon which he had been paying_ particular _attention. There, on the tiny screen of the device, was information on a new recruit. There were several paragraphs worth of information, but only two words stood out to him._

_Jennifer Swift._

_The corners of his lips curled up in a rare, cold smile that was neither a result of happiness or mirth. It was anticipation._

_Things were_ finally _about to become interesting._  
  
  


***  


Jenny stared at the holographic image in front of her, the blue light emitted from the screen making dappled patterns on her skin. She sighed, crossing her arms, and surveyed the dark figure that stood, straight-backed as always, amongst the destruction he had caused.

She was alone in her designated room, standing in the darkness that was only broken by Harrison’s image. There was a row of buttons on the inside of her door, and a soothing female voice which could be altered at command informed her could control a variety of factors within the room, including the temperature, alarm clock, light and ambience.

So, she sat, a blanket wrapped around slim shoulders, staring at a picture of the man who’d tried to kill her in total darkness while the soothing sounds of rain pitter-pattering on a roof floated through the speakers.

Jenny sipped the mug of tea that Pavel had brought her, blushing and mumbling something in Russian, after a decidedly odd pep-talk Jim had given her and his crew, the steam washing over her nose and cheeks. It was weak (just like a Russian to give her _weak_ tea), but he was too cute to condemn for anything, really.

“Alright, team,” Jim had said, constructing a steeple with his fingers and peering at them over the tip of it.

There had been a pause. Then, Uhura, rolling her eyes and stepping forward had asked “What, Captain?”

“ _I’m glad you asked, Lieutenant!_ ” Jim had exclaimed, raising one hand from steeple position and stabbing the air

Not for the first time, Jenny had questioned his sobriety.

“We’ve found a lead.” Doing another one of his quick-snap Captainly mood swings, he had suddenly become quite serious. “We have someone who has a link to Harrison. Jenny here,” he’d thrust a hand in her direction, “is our lead.”

Jenny reached out and zoomed in on the screen, until Harrison’s face filled it almost completely. He was frowning (as usual), looking over his shoulder. Dark hair swept across his forehead, his mouth set in a firm line.

He looked exactly the same, right down to the dark coat and the cheekbones capable of cutting diamonds.

Jenny sighed. Passing a hand through her hair, she racked her brain for any clues as to where he could have been. Jim and Spock had already questioned her about it, and after half an hour of her coming up blank, they decided to give her the rest of the night to see if she could come up with anything.

Update: she couldn’t.

Jenny had never been one to _give up_ though, nor was she the type of person to sit around while there was work to be done.

Telling herself this, she sprang to a standing position.

“OK,” she said, tossing her blanket to the side and setting her tea down carefully on a strategically-placed bedside table.

Facing the holovid, she quickly accessed the files she’d pulled up for Jim earlier, the ones that she had flagged two years earlier. She wasn’t exactly _allowed,_ of course, but the security was so dismally easy to find a loophole in that it was practically accidental. For a supposedly top-notch company, and the “harbingers of justice” as Hikaru had reported to her importantly, their Firewall (who even _used_ that anymore?) was pitiful.

A few minutes, a little overriding of specific systems, and she was in.

“I love myself,” she whispered, cracking her knuckles as the files appeared on the screen.

A tad narcissistic, but then again, who wasn’t guilty of that?

There were thirty-four files for Jenny to flick through- all she needed to do was find the common factor in all of them. She was sure Jim was doing the same, of course, but she was _also_ sure he’d do his best to keep her out of the loop.

Well, _officially._ Unofficially, however, he was perfectly aware she was capable of hacking the system and probably expected it. She rolled her eyes.

Lacing her fingers together, she cracked her knuckles. File one. A mission report, dated _quite_ a few years ago. And by a few, she meant before she was born. Jenny scrutinized the screen, scanning the information. The Captain of the mission had been somebody named Marcus, he had lost two crew-members in an incident with an alien race on the four-year voyage, and other than that had no oddities to report.

 _Weird,_ Jenny thought. You didn’t have two of your crew-members killed under your watch in an altercation and write “no other oddities to report” on the official recount of the event. She frowned. The sentence itself, rather like a deliberately blank holovid message, looked like a decoy.

File number two. Another report, with Marcus as Captain again. This one was much the same, albeit sans the suspicious phrasing. It was on the subject of a trip to Kronos, for diplomatic reasons. All had gone well.

Jenny’s frown deepened. A visit to _Kronos,_ and everything had gone well? Nothing to report?

“Bullshit.” She muttered, drawing the word out. She tapped the little ‘exit’ button on File Two, pulling up File Three and flicking her wrist so the page soared to a different corner of the room.

Dimly, she allowed herself to wonder at the awesome technology Starfleet had on-hand. There hadn’t been much room for holovids and PADDs back in the lowly gutters of Perth.

Report after report, file after file. They were all the same. Captain Marcus’ mission reports, suspicious circumstances and _nothing going wrong,_ except for one or two sentences dedicated to something Starfleet couldn’t cover up.

What was this Captain Marcus hiding? And why exactly did John need this information?

Jenny flicked back to his image, biting her tongue. She didn’t want to think about how, after almost two years, she’d reverted back to calling him _John._

His eyes seemed lifeless in the picture on-screen, lacking their normal cold, calculating edge. People had told her that _she_ had cold eyes, eyes that searched, but hers were nothing compared to the sheer deliberating _predatory_ look in his.

They’d always seemed to soften when he looked at her.

Even when he was mad, when she’d questioned him or _undermined his authority_ and he’d had her pinned against a wall, his eyes had bored into hers with undeniable caring.

 _Don’t._ She thought, _please._

 _Even when,_ her memory pressed on, even when he had sliced you open- even then, he’d looked at you with something akin to sorrow.

A slight stirring in the air, something that caused the hairs on the back of Jenny’s neck to stand up, made her breathe in sharply and swipe at the screen. Jo- _Harrison’s_ image disappeared.

She looked round. What _was_ that? It felt- no, _sounded_ , like a slight cough. Her eyes darted to the speakers she’d noticed in her room earlier.

_Speakers._

_The Enterprise had a two-way sound-system that could be activated and controlled by the Bridge._

And as soon as she’d entered the room, she had opened the communication system so that if Kirk needed to contact her, he could. She had probably allowed a two-way transfer.

He was probably _listening,_ she realised suddenly.

“Jim.” She snapped, scowling as a disembodied voice cut across the soothing rain sounds, full of smug authority.

“This is your Captain speaking, how may I help you?” he asked, mock-innocent.

“Shut up, you were listening the _entire_ time, weren’t you?” Jenny said indignantly, crossing her arms.

“Of _course_ not, Jennifer.” He drawled in reply. “By the way, how much exactly _do_ you love yourself?”

A sharp sound, as if somebody had hit another somebody over the head, crackled through the speakers.

“Ow,” commented Jim, irritated. “Jeez, Bones, you-“

“Um, yes, can we please focus back on me?” Jenny interrupted. “I’ve made a connection, genius that I am.”

Silence. Then, “I’m going to ignore the fact that you most likely hacked into the system to achieve that. Good, good! What is it?”

“Are you sure you want me to tell you over the system?”

“Fair point. Be up at the Bridge in five, and,” Jim lowered his voice, the sound becoming somewhat muffled as if he was cupping his hands around the speaker, “try not to be _too_ friendly with Chekov. Don’t want him having a heart attack.”

Before she could shoot back a barbed reply, the speaker beeped, signalling that the communication had been cut off. “Arsehole,” she settled for muttering, taking her knife from its place under her pillow and sliding it into her boot.

It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

Jenny drained the last of her tea as she stepped out into the bright hallway, and nearly dropped the mug as she promptly whacked into someone.

Said someone immediately became a fountain of apologies.

“Ack!” Pavel exclaimed, settling his (extremely welcome) hands on her waist in a not-really-needed-but-much-appreciated gesture of helping her achieve balance. “Sorry, I-“

She waved the one hand that wasn’t holding the tea mug, and smiled winningly at him. “No worries, Pavel. Doesn’t matter.”

He nodded. “Are you on your way to the Bridge?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” he smiled, his eyes lighting up.

He was so _nice._ Just nice _everything,_ so different from any other boy she’d flirted with. He wasn’t trying to ‘establish his male dominance’ for one.

God, she hated the fact that she could actually put _quotation marks_ around that.

“Um, care to walk with me?”

“Da.” He said, softly, and then she noticed exactly how close their faces were. And other parts of their bodies.

She wet her lips with her tongue.

“AHEM.” Said a very loud, very Scottish voice behind them, and Pavel practically _pirouetted_ away from her.

“Oh, hi.” Jenny said casually, as if she hadn’t just been about two seconds away from pashing a cute Ensign in the corridor.

The man who’d so rudely become the proverbial cold shower to end that little adventure she’d been looking forward to brightened considerably once she turned her attention to him. “Hello!” he blurted, surging forward to shake her hand.

“Um,” she replied, darting a glance towards Pavel as the Scottish guy pumped her arm up and down vigorously.

The Russian Ensign shrugged at her. “Scotty, this is Jenny.” He gestured lamely with one hand.

“Yes! Jim mentioned you’re our lead! I’m Scotty, head of Engineering, pleased to meet you.” ‘Scotty’ said in a rush, dropping her hand.

“Oh, same here.” She answered, smiling at the shorter man.

He wore a red shirt, typical of his profession, and his grin was wide and welcoming. She decided, moment-ruining habits aside, that she kind of liked the guy.

“Are you off to the Bridge?” he asked, his accent rich and broad, rolling over the _r_ s and _o_ s.

She nodded in return, and he slung an arm around one of her shoulders. “I’ll take you, then!”

He led her off, and they walked side-by-side to the Bridge, while Pavel brought up the rear. Scotty yakked and yakked the whole way there, but it was comforting to hear _someone_ talk to her about something other than John- shit- Harrison.

“I know what it must be like for you, comin’ from someplace like Australia, me bein’ from Scotland meself. All these Americans, and even if you’re an alien they all learnt _American_ English so they have the bloody Yankee accent as well! Us migrants should stick together, eh?” he nudged her, and she laughed.

“Yeah, I reckon so too, mate.”

“I am migrant also,” Pavel muttered, but Scotty ignored him.

Jenny shot him a grin, but had to crane her neck as the Engineer steered her through the doorway and onto the Bridge.

“Jenny!” Uhura beckoned her over.

Extracting herself from Scotty’s grip, she jogged the remaining distance over to the Lieutenant. “I opened the flagged files,” she told her, nodding at Spock and Jim.

“And?”

“The common factor? Someone called Captain Alexander Marcus. He’s an Admiral now, am I right?”

Realisation dawned over the three’s faces.

“ _Shit,_ ” Jim hissed. “Get me Marcus!” he barked, enabling the communication system on his PADD. “Marcus, to the Bridge. Carol Marcus, _to the Bridge._ ”

“Well, I guess the shit just hit the proverbial fan, then.” Jenny observed, watching amusedly as Jim practically tore his own hair out.

“What else did you find?” Uhura wasted no time with idle chit-chat.

“He made quite a few visits to Kronos, an unusual amount, and they didn’t appear to be cleared with the Klingons themselves. I think Harrison might be there.”

Spock nodded, and as a pretty blonde woman with sleek hair and worried eyes- Carol Marcus, Jenny assumed- stepped onto the Bridge, he said, “I suppose a visit to Kronos is in order.”

“Kronos?” Pavel said nervously, from behind her. His presence was warm, subsiding the sudden chill that had descended over her.

“Kronos.”

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so this is my first foray into the Star Trek universe! Please read and review, helpful criticism is always welcomed :)


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